Roasted Idioms and Tattle Tales

Marie always said
we’d go to Paris and French kiss
“when pigs fly.” So,

thus I registered a pig and a parrot
as two “Emotional Support Animals,”
who we could take on the plane with us

Then I thought she said,
“You’re an idiot with booze.”
That would have been good news:
ammunition for certification of support needs.

But the pig who speaks French said she intoned,
“La citation de cochon, cher imbécile, est un idiome.”

The parrot told me it means:
The pig quote is an idiom.

So I went back to the airline
and I registered Marie as a support animal.

Elaborate Loquacious Verbosity in Cacophony Like Noise in a Crowd

Sentences, gracefully elaborated, embellished
with the sounds of glorious triumph, played

with cacophonous instruments of
drunken loquacious musicians strung out
on their heart strings,

birds and cats
playing around with joyful noise who are mine,

these sentences gracefully making every trill
a wave to glory, oceanic, are not runaways,
being ensconced in dreams, and

pray tell, if I may continue,
the words of the angels
are infinite and concise like
love that sings forever charming and
as elaborate as is a sentence to joy,

many times re-phrased, re-claused
like a Santa Clause whose mythology endures
way beyond his run away sleigh, bells of grace
reverberating with every sentence pronounced
by judges and supplicants
gracefully joined in symphony, in
sympathy, in empathy, and joined on every path
to any pathy even daffy, because
the complex can be simply wonderful
like you all who indulge
the marathon run into oblivion
with a billion words and
who pause to hear my running word.

Give me my praise
I shall not want but my
thousand splendid words, and
she who is verbose, perhaps,
yea but

Maybe I should have met her
on every cherished thought I had

but nocturnal words are fickle
and u don’t know how much i tried

oh don’t scold me if I tell u others
of the old words that defy

Look up,
look it up:
those lucubrations

where I studied romance,
but feared to speak out loud
lest a candle be blown out
on a cherished doubtful notion

Maybe I could have known her
with every cherished thought I had

Devotions in motion maybe
are not a type face. I’m
looking it up.

Sometimes she’s in a digital box,
but now I imagine:

Looking up to the sky
she’s running wild style
climbing adventurous trees

Those wild trees uproot themselves
just to make a statement
even if they fall short of running
but, of course, it’s not recommended

Yes, trees can branch
that’s their slow motion adventure
when they must wait for seed carriers
that bear their fruit

Maybe she’ll come down
for our favorite wine
and a dithyramb
about ecstasy
and leafy love

I have seen her dither,
climb a tree in bloom
speak with flirty birds
and have a word with me
that is a subtle twitter bark
surrounding like a hug wood
a play with banter-word chirps

But wilder is better because
even in flighty tedium whims
she knows the prolix eagles
who extend their wings
and cry for hours when
she speaks their language

With a waiting twiddle I wanted much
to touch her since then, and
there is a flourish in melody
that accompanies the twaddle
of the giddy blooming of me
I hear when I think
of her as branching music
reaching for the sky

I know she’s reading
between tweets
sneaking a look at
longer things like me
world famous innuendo

Hello, I can see you dear and
I have words to sing.
Step away from the box screen
and meet me in the forest;
there’s a long body
of conversation
of pleasure

I want my thousand words,
don’t want to abbreviate you
or shorten the picture

I don’t see you as a u or pic, and
I’m so sorry u were picked on

I will file a brief
in the highest court for
je ne sais quoi appeals, and
run rampant on ramparts of verbosity
because at least prolixity has a tongue
a lingua frank and a lingua true
not politically corrected scrub
but where I could be a tree
and you could be a bush
in the metaphor field
away from the digital box
and on to lots

short enough for ya’
u,… Oh, I would ask
your real name, but
I forgot mine

Maybe if I’ve lost my mind,
all these palpitations I have known
will be smoothed by mellifluous U when
your dear ear is on my flighty heart, and
frenzied eagles clap their wings, but yes
it’s best to reminisce, be in the pasture
of the past remembering:

maybe I should have met her
on every cherished thought I had
on the euphonious sound
of the mind plays played out
splayed like detritus loved, but

I knew her in the protest days
when she had the cacoethes loquendi,
was a gifted articulate rabble rouser
in a day when there were no cell phones
just cells

Oh the sadness of her cacoepy when
she mumbles tripe into the belly of a text message
never speaking in a sentence that would echo
over the harbinger crows that these days
inhabit the empty speakers’ square
where passersby, no longer downtrodden,
are down headed streaming pap on screens

I knew her when she would stand on a statue
demand her rights when she was right, there
in the speakers’ square (secretly knowing she was cute)

But now she’s downheaded and confused
refusing the speakers’ platform
where birds and I
could hear some rhetorical question
that I profoundly would, with chalice aforethought,

mischievously answer in basso profundo
“Share my wine of fictional dictum in a cup”
and I could see now that
she’d pronounce us “Huh whaa?”
and does she know I know
she knows she’s cute

I think a kiss would be
better than a text message
or a revolution

Give me my praise
I shall not be wanted

My praise is in the valley.
There the lambs are abundant;
I do not need to want for lamb chops, and
no need for stewing.

Give me my paprika,
the shepherdess is at the barbecue

My staff, they comfort me,
the office gives me my just humor;
they humor me in cacophony

I cross the river into Egypt
and find my sticks, no carrots

Loquaciousness
do not fail me now, for
I must beg to be let to
come to the gates of Heaven
and plead my case in
the verbosity of the century, yea
I come to praise Caesar and myself in kind

Indeed tell me he is there
and I am ubiquitous in
the quadrillion words of praise.